


If I Have To

by mcicioni



Category: Return of the Seven (1966)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash, Quite a lot of talking between shootouts, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23025229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcicioni/pseuds/mcicioni
Summary: "Missing scenes" and "missing moments" from the filmReturn of the Seven, the first of three sequels toThe Magnificent Seven(1960)
Relationships: Chris Adams & Vin
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	If I Have To

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sindarina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sindarina/gifts).



> Thanks, now and always, to darcyone for her language suggestions.
> 
> For Sindarina, because the two of us are a mutual encouragement and inspiration society.
> 
> Readers familiar with both _The Magnificent Seven_ and _Return of the Seven_ \- while writing this, I "saw" Steve McQueen as Vin (whom he played in the first film), although in _Return of the Seven_ Vin was played by Robert Fuller. Feel free to visualise whomever you prefer.

**1\. The first night**

“Counting Chico, that makes seven.”

They step out of the tavern and slightly turn towards each other.

“Where are you …?” they say at the same time, and both huff out a little laugh.

“I got a room just on the edge of town, in an old lady’s house,” Vin says, grinning. “A few extra pesos, and she won’t mind me havin a guest.”

On their way there they pay a brief visit to Petra and the child, bringing them some food and telling them to be ready to ride out just before daybreak. 

“I’ll get Manuel to collect them in the morning,” Chris says. “This can be his job, looking after them.”

“I’ll buy some provisions while you’re doin that.” 

They have fallen into step easily enough, as if their bodies remembered the way the two of them had walked and ridden and worked side by side six years ago. But their conversation is halting, a little hesitant. This time things are different, and Vin sees that all too clearly. They are seven once again, but Chico has been taken who knows where, and the others are a couple of Chris’s dubious pals, a _bandido_ sentenced to be shot, a young man who can’t even speak English, and the two of them. 

He lets out a brief, imperceptible sigh. Yeah. The two of them. That’s why he’s not getting the hell out of here. 

“How come you got so much money in your pocket?” Chris breaks into Vin’s thoughts. “Enough to pay for one bull and one funeral, which didn’t happen anyway.”

Vin feels a little warmth rise up to his neck and cheeks. “Worked as a deputy sheriff in Sonora, Texas. Lasted nearly a year.”

“That how you heard about the price on my head?”

Vin makes a vague noise of assent – that stupid lie is a weight in his guts, he knows he’ll have to fess up sooner or later. But he’s not the only one who lied today. Chris’s story about the lead in the air was total bullshit, and although calling him on that might be dangerous, it’s probably safer than coming clean on the bounty business. He just needs to make sure that he’s the first one to speak.

They have arrived at the adobe house where Vin has rented a room. The old Mexican widow pockets some extra money, gives them a clean towel, disappears into her bedroom and locks the door. The room is small, the only furniture a double bed pushed against the wall, a mirror and a rickety metal stand for a mismatched pitcher and bowl. Vin waves Chris in, shuts the door, takes off hat and gunbelt and speaks lightly, casually.

“You didn’t really quit Overland because you were scared, did you.”

Chris slowly puts his gunbelt on the floor at the foot of the bed. Six years have left marks on him, deeper bags under his eyes, a small scar at the corner of his mouth, a few lines across his forehead as well as the permanent small vertical furrow Vin noticed when they first assessed each other on that hearse, six years ago. He turns his back on Vin and starts unbuttoning his shirt without answering.

“The job suited you,” Vin continues, addressing Chris’s back. “I’m sure you were good at it. And I’m sure that there was enough action to keep you on your toes.” 

A long pause. Then Chris slowly turns around. “There was a driver,” he says, voice low, eyes blank. “His name was Bill. A good man.” He breathes deeply. “We worked well together, we became friends. I was best man at his wedding, six months ago.”

Vin stands motionless, frozen by premonition.

“Two months ago, there was a holdup. Three men. I dealt with two. The third one shot Bill as he was reaching for his gun.” A long pause. “His wife’s going to have a baby. I was the one who had to tell her.” He takes off boots and trousers, gets into bed and lies on his back, stiffly, staring at the ceiling.

 _Yet another person you cared for, and you couldn’t help_ , Vin thinks. _So you went back to driftin._ He says nothing, strips quickly and lies down beside Chris. The bed is barely wide enough for them to lie side by side, with their shoulders brushing.

Vin feels his body relax in the warmth from the other body. He hears a half-suppressed yawn and a quiet “Good night.” He would like to repeat what he said in the bull ring, _I oughta ride with you in case you need any help_ , but he just replies “Good night,” the words slightly slurred with tiredness.

Chris’s breathing begins to get a little slower and more regular. Vin is glad of that, it’s been a long day for each of them, and tomorrow will be longer still. He closes his eyes.

  
  


**2\. The first night in the village**

“Killin can get into your blood,” Vin says. He’s been brooding about this all day long. He’s good at his work because the moment a confrontation starts he’s able to predict the opponents’ movements and swiftly choose the most effective response, be it shoot, run, or ride in pursuit. But when you spend a whole day riding in circles, striking out blind, sometimes doubts can ambush you and hit you in the side, or in the back. You try to face them and scatter them, but it’s too late, they’ve got you, you’re a goner.

“Why else would I be here?” he asks, of himself more than Chris.

Chris is standing by the fireplace, gazing into the flames, smoking.

“Don’t it make you wonder?” Vin presses. If he looks back at his life, all he can see is people he fought against, or people he left behind. His folks at the farm, after fifteen years. Girls he chased, after a few hours or a few days. Men he fought shoulder to shoulder with, including Chico and Chris, after the battle was over.

Chris’s voice is firm. “No. Because in all the years I’ve made my way with a gun, I never once shot a man just to see him fall.” A brief pause. “That time ever comes, I’ll throw my gun in the water bucket and ride out.” He finally turns slightly towards Vin and looks straight into his eyes. “So will you.” He sounds absolutely certain of what Vin will do. Then he goes to check on Petra and the kid, and Vin is left alone. The doubts haven’t quite disappeared, but they’ve retreated, almost out of sight.

A few minutes later Chris comes back in, and doesn’t look surprised at seeing Vin still there. He steps closer and lays a hand on Vin’s shoulder, heavy, warm. “Come on. We need to get some sleep.”

“You’ll remind me of that water bucket, if I ever forget?” As soon as the words are out, Vin realises that behind them there’s an assumption about the future. An _unwarranted_ assumption. He starts moving briskly towards the door, his body already missing the brief contact.

“I will. If I have to,” is all Chris answers.

  
  


**3\. After the second battle**

They’re standing side by side against one of their makeshift barricades, their elbows brushing. Vin is half-turned towards Chris, Chris is staring straight ahead. Things don’t look promising: Lorca is regrouping, tomorrow the fighting will be harder, probably until a side is permanently defeated. There’s three hundred Mexicans on their side, but less than twenty can handle guns.

“Looks like you should have turned me in for that bounty,” Chris says, and the bitterness behind his joke is so deep that Vin shrugs, _the hell with it all_ , and comes clean.

“There never was a price on you. I just wanted to ride with you a while.”

Chris does turn towards him then, but says nothing. Vin is half relieved that he’s getting away with it and half disappointed that Chris isn’t asking any whys and wherefores.

“Maybe they’ll back off,” he offers, not believing one syllable of it. He is about to grab his Winchester and walk back towards the Mexicans, when Chris speaks.

“Not Lorca. He won’t let go.” A pause. “I was paid to kill him once. By his sons.”

Vin swallows, dumbstruck. Chris turns his back on him and starts climbing towards a higher spot on the ruins of the church. Vin follows him at once: he won’t pass any judgement, he can’t, every single man in their line of work has had times when he couldn’t look at himself in a mirror after a contract. But Chris needs to get this off his chest. 

“His sons,” he repeats, encouragingly, and Chris meets his eyes and tells him how Lorca’s sons were gentle, and how they hated their father, and how their father let Chris ride off after he failed to carry out the contract.

Vin looks at Chris, at the darkness in the deep-set brown eyes, and all he knows in that moment is that he’d give everything he has to make Chris forget. “Maybe he saw in you what he never saw in his own,” he finally says; it isn’t much of a consolation, but there is true friendship behind it, and Chris can see that.

They remain silent for a little while. Vin’s mind moves from the past to the immediate future: tomorrow will be the last day for a lot of men, maybe himself, or Chris, or both. He glances sideways at Chris: there could be worse fates than dying beside this man. Hell, there could also – he reflects with a little smirk – be worse fates than _living_ beside this man. This man who has been in and out of his thoughts for six years. This shuttered man, who hates what he is, and who at times uses his considerable deadly skills to help people who cannot defend themselves.

He starts walking away, and for the second time Chris’s voice stops him.

“Vin. About that bounty.”

He turns around, narrowing his eyes a little.

“You’re welcome to come along, if that’s your taste.” Chris’s voice is dry, matter-of fact, but there’s a little warmth lurking behind his eyes. “I’ll do my best to make sure you stay alive. If I have to.”

Vin squints at the dust wafting among the rubble, and there may be some figures weaving in and out of it – Harry, Britt, the unknown Bill, the other men Chris could not help. “I’m not your responsibility,” Vin says sharply, then rethinks, and grins. “Well. No more than you are mine. I guess I’ll try to keep you alive too. If I have to.”

Chris flashes him a quick smile that lights up his sharp, stern features. “Wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

  
  


**4\. Saying goodbye**

The square outside the church is teeming with people. Women are cooking on makeshift fires or washing clothes near the fountain. Some children are trying to help the grownups, others are playing ring-around-the-rosey. Men are dismantling the barricades and beginning to rebuild the church and the houses.

In the distance, more men are digging graves. A lot of graves, for their own friends and relatives, and for Lorca’s men. Three for the comrades Chris and Vin have lost. Frank, who got his death wish fulfilled while saving Chris’s life. Luis, who died shooting at aggressors instead of presenting his chest to a firing squad. And Manuel, young and naïve and wistful, who saved them all with his dynamite, and whom they found lying, arms outstretched, at the foot of the bell-tower.

Vin is already mounted up and is holding the reins of Chris’s horse. If he looks back, he can see the fountain where five of them huddled in what they were sure would be their last stand. If he rises up in his stirrups, he can see the little wall where he crouched, shouting at Chris, after his horse was shot from under him. And where Chris raced back for him in the middle of enemy gunfire, found him and helped him to jump on the back of his horse.

Chris, Chico and the priest walk out of the church and come closer. Vin hands Chris his reins, and just says, “Too bad the others couldn’t have seen this.” Chris nods sombrely, and Vin thinks back to the raw despair in Chris’s eyes as he had raised them from Manuel’s body.

Vin has already wished Petra good luck, and quietly made her take all the money he had in his pockets. Now she and Chico are standing together, their expressive faces filled with a mixture of sadness, hope, good wishes for him and Chris, and love for each other. He smiles at them: more power to anyone who has someone by his side, in good times and bad.

Almost like six years ago, they say goodbye and ride out together, he and this man whom he would like to – at different times or all at once – tease, challenge, touch, and follow from one end of the country to the other. Again, at the top of a rise they stop and turn for a last look.

“I’ll be damned,” Chris says, but he’s almost smiling as he gazes at the Mexicans rebuilding their lives.

“I doubt that. I doubt that very much,” Vin replies, and he’s grinning openly. “So, where are we headed now?”

“Back across the border,” Chris says. “This is their land. We should leave them to it. But Colbee won’t – he’s going to stick around and do some ploughing and sowing of his own.”

Vin laughs, glad to hear that Chris is up to a joke, even a half-lame one. He _will_ ride beside Chris for as long as they can put up with each other. “I heard San Antonio is wide open. Ever been there?”

Chris shakes his head. “No. But I may be heading there.” He glances at Vin. “If I have to.”

There could be quite a lot of worse fates than living beside this man. Vin laughs again, and gently urges his horse to a trot. “Yeah. You do.”


End file.
